


Precipice

by frogsarebitches



Category: Hannibal(TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Murder, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode:s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Slow Burn, Someone give Will Graham a hug, Will Loves Hannibal, Will's becoming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21874318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogsarebitches/pseuds/frogsarebitches
Summary: As they stood before the precipice, Will saw that the teacup had come together again, and he knew he had no other option but to send them both to shatter to pieces on the ocean floor instead.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. I am very scared. This first chapter is very short but the next ones will probably be longer. Ok, thanks for reading. Bye.

For a moment as they fell, in the few cataclysmic seconds between their embrace and the arguably inevitable crashing of their bodies into the ocean below, time seemed to stand still and everything around them came to halt. The teacup had come together again, so Will felt he had no other option but to send them both to shatter to pieces on the ocean floor instead.

When Will awoke, he was being pulled roughly away from the reaching tide and into some sort of alcove hidden inside the cliff. For a moment he was convinced he had died. His vision was hazy and blackened at the edges, the strong taste metal coated his tongue and his body dragged behind him like a corpse. He was faintly aware of a dull pain in his leg, though his extremities were largely numb as a result of the biting temperature of the ocean. He could hear the faint sound of grunting above him and a murmuring voice that his brain could barely decipher as anything but white noise. It broke apart and melded with the high-pitched ringing that crashed around his skull like an angry wasp. 

Will was in no state for a response regardless of whether he could understand or not, so released a pained noise of acknowledgement instead as Hannibal laid him down on the hard sand a few feet away from where they had fallen. Terrible pain radiated through his whole body like a fever. The bitter taste of salt assaulted his mouth and stung the tear in his cheek. His grasped his shoulder as the gaping wound bled relentlessly, coating his white shirt pink with blood and ocean water. 

They’d survived. 

His initial reaction was primal at first; complete relief, followed closely by guilt. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. As soon as Hannibal turned to stand, Will began pushing himself to his knees, and started crawling back towards the icy water that had cruelly spitten him out like bad wine. His vision darkened even more as he reached the edges of the water, the tide seeming tantalisingly close and painfully far away all at once. The sand shifted beneath his legs and he lost his balance, landing on his shoulder and crying out in pain at the abrupt landing. Hannibal clocked on to his plan almost immediately, and came over as quickly as he was able. “Will, stop.” Will froze where he lay, with half of his body partially submerged and moving weakly with the tide. 

“This shouldn’t have happened.” He croaked, but received no response, leaving Will unsure as to whether he had even spoken out loud. He allowed Hannibal to lift him, trying his best to help support some of his own weight on his uninjured leg, and not missing how the man almost stumbled underneath him. It felt strange to see Hannibal so weak, so vulnerable - in this moment no longer the powerful beast he had come to know. It was rather endearing to see him so broken. He supposed this was how Hannibal must have felt watching Will’s mind unravel and set itself alight. It was terribly entertaining. 

Still, Hannibal seemed to have suffered considerably less in the fall than Will, or at least he was doing a much better job of concealing his pain. The bullet wound in his side was generously spilling blood onto the beach beneath them, turning the soft sand solid and dark. “Are you able to walk?” Hannibal asked, and when he received no response, he turned Will in his arms so that he may cup Will’s face in his hands and force Will to meet his eyes. “Will?”

Still only half sure what was happening was real, Will nodded at the dark, half-blurry figure in front of him, vaguely aware of a dark stag watching them with keen interest in the corner of his eye. Before he could tell it to leave them be, Hannibal had wrapped one strong arm around Will’s waist, draping Will’s own arm across his shoulder and carefully avoiding knocking him into his side. With a deep inhale, he began walking them forwards down the beach, and Will managed to get halfway there before passing out in Hannibal’s arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there too much dialogue in this chapter? Probably. Will I change it? No, I will not.

The next time Will awoke he was staring up at a ceiling. It was creamy white and littered with small holes where the paint had chipped. He was faintly aware that the room was swaying and thought he could hear something rhythmically slamming against his wall. His mind offered up the memory of sailing across the ocean in desperate search of Hannibal, and he realised with some delay that he must be on board a boat. He was quick to shut down anymore thoughts of his last voyage; preferring to choose the ambiguity of sleep over over analysing the absolute train wreck that was his relationship with Hannibal Lecter. He could feel a slight tugging in his cheek whenever he moved his face, and a combination of dull and sharp pains radiated through his body whenever he shifted to get more comfortable. His shoulder and leg both ached terribly.

He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while; the two often overlapping and melting unceremoniously into one another. Every time he closed his eyes, wanton images of The Dragon screaming came rushing to the forefront of his mind; followed by everyone else. Garrett Jacob Hobbs loomed over him, a pale corpse, pelted with the bullets from Will’s gun and smiling even as he exhaled his final spasmodic breaths. “See?” And Will did, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to anymore. 

He had felt so certain when he had been killing The Dragon. He felt powerful, electric, a prisoner finally free of his restraints and capable of exerting his own form of righteous justice. But now his mind was clouded with uncertainty, the familiar weight of guilt resting heavily on his shoulders and threatening to drown him like the ocean had failed to. This was his becoming, but he wasn’t sure what exactly he was going to become. And he was terrified; both of how excited he was and what that said about his character, and of how much he wanted to transform into Hannibal’s design: his cunning monster, painted in red, teeth bared, merciless and absolutely starving. 

Will didn’t hear Hannibal enter the cabin - he was far too wrapped up in his own thoughts. “You’re awake.” He began, and there was an uncharacteristic warmth in his voice as he came to stand pointedly before Will’s bed. “I came to change your bandages,” the other man didn’t even seem to realise he was there. “Will?” 

Will took a deep inhale, blinking a few times at the battered ceiling before his eyes seemed to focus and he began sitting up in bed, carefully swinging his legs over the edge of the narrow bed to face him. “Hannibal,” he greeted. 

“How are you feeling, Will?” Hannibal took a seat on the bed opposite, looking at Will so intently he would’ve ordinarily averted his gaze, but now he found he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. 

“I’m fine.” He replied simply, shrugging his one good shoulder. 

Hannibal’s expression shifted slightly, into his subtle rendition of a frown. “You’ve been through a trauma, Will. It’s very natural to feel unstable at this time.” 

“Unstable,” Will attempted to laugh but it came out rough, forced, and half caught in the dry chasm of his throat. He cleared it before he resumed speaking again. “There’s that old chestnut again. I thought our days of lax psychiatry were behind us, Doctor.” 

“I apologise for the unfortunate phrasing. Though I only meant to enquire upon your well being, Will.” 

He coughed, “I’m fine, Hannibal. What about you?” He quirked an eyebrow. “How are you feeling?” 

If Hannibal could sense the condescension in Will’s tone, he chose simply not to comment on it. “I feel unsettled, Will; you tried to kill us both.” 

“No, I- I didn’t try to kill us.” Will stuttered, taken aback by the suddenly serious change in conversation. 

Hannibal frowned again. “No?” 

“No.” There was a small lapse in conversation before Hannibal stood and sat beside Will on his bed. Will shifted. “I need to change your bandages.” Will nodded his understanding and they sat there in silence for a while as Hannibal put his doctorate to good use. 

He began by tilting Will’s head back slightly to get a better look at the stitching he had completed the other day while Will was still dead to the world, grimacing at his rushed attempts to seal up the wound. It was adequate - Will wouldn’t scar too badly, but it wasn’t his best work. Hannibal supposed it was as good it could be with the waves constantly writhing against the boat and causing his hands to waver and falter. He supposed at least it added character; just another scar he had inflicted on Will’s body to add to his growing collection. Though this one was not dealt with his own hand, it had been heavily coerced and Hannibal felt he could take some responsibility. He solemnly traced the black thread with the back of his finger before placing a hand on Will’s shoulder. 

“I need you to remove your sleep shirt, Will.” Hannibal noted with some interest that Will’s eyes had been closed. 

Will removed his shirt silently, dropping it unceremoniously onto the cabin floor. Hannibal met his eyes briefly before he picked it up again, mumbling an apology. Hannibal swallowed his smile before fixing his eyes on the wounded shoulder before him. He carefully removed the gauze so that he could inspect his stitching. “You’re healing well,” he observed. The shoulder wound wasn’t as traumatic as Will’s other injury; the knife hadn’t sliced straight through, but it was still a relatively deep wound and would take time to heal. He reached over to the wooden side table beside Will’s bed and retrieved two gauze pads, some cotton pads and a small bottle of disinfectant. Once he was done cleaning and re-dressing the wound, he asked "are you experiencing pain anywhere else?"

Will shook his head slowly, "no." Hannibal had enough on his plate without worrying about Will's condition, it wasn't as if the fall hadn't taken his toll on him too. 

The doctor nodded, "let me know if anything changes."

Once he was done, he uncurled Will’s hand and placed some painkillers in his palm. “Let me know if you need something stronger.” Will hummed, eyes still closed, and Hannibal stood to sit on his own bed slightly further down the cabin and see to his own wounds. 

He had been worried about infection, with limited access to antibiotics, but it turns out he needn’t have worried – they were both healing perfectly. Luck of the devil, Hannibal huffed as he watched Will dry swallow the gifted painkillers, despite there being a fresh glass of water beside his bed. Hannibal began inspecting his own wounds, peeling back the gauze on his abdomen to see that he was no longer bleeding and quietly swiping away any dried blood around the bullet wound. Other than Will’s leg injury, they had both been incredibly fortunate to sustain only minimal injuries: merely a generous scattering of cuts and bruises hitting the ocean from such a height, and then dragging themselves across the sharp rocks that mimicked a razors edge along the uneven shore line. 

When he had finished replacing the gauze on his abdomen, he spoke again. “You told me you had forgiven me, Will.” 

Will opened his eyes, inhaling loudly and frowning. Hannibal wondered if he had been fishing. “And I meant it.” 

“And yet, look at us. Barely alive, but for the mercy of the roiling Atlantic. We are only alive thanks to grace of God, despite your best efforts.” 

“I wasn’t trying to kill us.” Will insisted, turning on the thin bed so that he could face Hannibal properly. “I told you I wasn’t.” 

“Please forgive my trepidation.” 

Will sighed, “I couldn’t do it - I couldn’t become…” Will gestured vaguely with shaky hands, before running them down his abused face, sighing heavily into his palms. He continued speaking with his eyes firmly closed, flashes of the recent dead creeping into his vision whenever he dared keep them open. “The idea that I could become like you, of what we could become together… it was too much, and I needed to stop it before we hurt anyone else.” 

“So your solution was to murder the both of us.” Will winced slightly at the phrasing, but then nodded, blue eyes opening. “I truly hope you will eventually become comfortable with who you are, Will.” 

Will’s eyes darted away quickly, causing the edges of his vision to darken temporarily. He steadied himself by placing one hand on his bunk and then frowned. “So, where are we?” 

Hannibal smiled. “We are currently docked at a port in Washington.” 

“How long was I out?” 

“Around two days. Although you have been dipping in and out of sleep for the last twelve hours or so. I don’t share your aptitude for sailing I’m afraid. I got us as far as I could with my limited capabilities, but was forced to wait until you recovered before we could go any further.” 

“We’re going further?” 

“Yes,” Hannibal nodded. “Cuba, I had hoped. Chiyoh assisted me with gathering all the necessary supplies, as well as relocating the boat to where it was needed. We won’t have to make any unscheduled stops along the way.” He studied Will’s face for a moment, recognising the hesitation resting in the furrow of his brow. “ I am more than willing to change our destination if you would rather head elsewhere, perhaps somewhere not so drastically different.” 

Will shook his head, not particularly caring where they went as long as they were together. “No, different is good; Cuba’s fine. It sounds nice.” Hannibal smiled again. “Who’s boat is this?” 

Hannibal quirked his head to the side, and Will found himself thinking of a shrike. “It’s yours.” 

Will frowned, “I don’t have a boat.” 

“Perhaps not now, but you did once, when you sailed for Florence all those years ago.” Hannibal replied wistfully, eyes narrowed. 

“My sailboat? I sold that, how did you find it?” 

“I can be rather resourceful when it is required of me, Will.” 

Will scoffed, “Hell, if I don’t know that already. I’m guessing you did’t purchase it?” 

Hannibal smirked, exposing a sharp tooth. “Don’t fret, they won’t miss it.” 

Will huffed a laugh at that, more than a little shocked at his apparent indifference towards the death of an innocent person. Only a few years ago, his sole purpose in life was protecting the lives of civilians, and now he was choosing to running away with a man who murdered those same people essentially for his own entertainment, as well as his cultured palate. He shook his head to dispel the train of thought, not liking the dark place it was heading. 

“You found my sailboat.” He said simply, shaking his head. 

Hannibal smirked, “yes.” 

“How did you even know you’d be needing one?” 

Hannibal smiled again. “I was always planning to use a boat so that we could make our escape. I hadn’t predicted the situation would be so dire, of course. Nor so far in the future.” 

Will felt his chest tighten, his eyes followed to where Hannibal’s had wandered to the third bed laying dejected in the corner. So far had made a point not to dwell on the meaning of its presence there, choosing to ignore what it stood for. The sheets were undisturbed, lifeless. Had she visited here, all those years ago? Sat on that bed and imagined a life where the three of them left before not so much bad had happened that it couldn’t be fixed by running away? Guilt burned in his chest for more than just what had happened to Abigail. It ached for the time they had lost because of his indecision, his fear. He met Hannibal’s eyes. “You planned this trip with more than two in mind,” he managed. 

Hannibal returned his gaze, “I had hoped Abigail would be here, yes.” They sat in silence for a while, the only noise being that of the sound of salt waves lapping languidly against the hull of the boat. After a while, the silence was broken by the creak of Hannibal’s bed as he rose. “I had better get back on deck. It’s not safe to stay still for too long.” 

“Right, of course.” Will nodded, watching Hannibal as he walked the few steps it took to cross the room to the small doorframe. 

“Please let me know if you’re not coping well, Will. We’re in this together, now.” Will merely nodded, watching as Hannibal left and then opting to lay down on his bunk once more as soon as Hannibal had ascended the stairs. 

Will wasn’t sure how long had passed but it felt like at least a couple of hours. He slept fitfully, dreaming of the fall, of all the people he had left behind, all the people who had suffered as a result of his becoming: Molly and Walter, Jack, Alana, to name a few. They all stood around his bed now, pointing at him accusingly and jabbing at him with fingers that were far too sharp and cold to be real. They wailed and screamed at him, their tears bloody and collecting to form crimson pools on the wooden floor. At one point he was sure he had awoken but then he saw the dragon sat at the foot of his bed, baring his fangs and slowly climbing towards him, slowly, slowly. Will awoke screaming, lurching forwards to sit up on his pillows and breathing heavily. He regretted the action immediately; a sharp pain in his shoulder momentarily winded him and he was sure he had ripped his face while screaming. He bit into his hand to stop himself crying out and it came back decorated with the red moulds of his teeth. 

Within seconds Hannibal was rushing down the steps and crouched beside his bed. “Will, is everything alright?” Will couldn’t take the concerned look on his face: he didn’t deserve it, not after what he had done. He nodded slowly. “Please don’t lie to me, Will. Not now.” Will’s eyes dropped to the floor. A silent apology. 

“I just had a nightmare, that’s all.” 

“Nightmares are our brain’s way of telling us to face what we are afraid of. What was the subject of your nightmare?” 

Will sighed, wincing as he sat further up in bed. It felt strangely intimate to have Hannibal here in bed beside him, it made him uncomfortable, though he wasn’t sure why. “People we know: Jack, Alana, Abigail. The dragon.” 

“You should call Francis by his real name, it may help you to humanise him, separate him from the creature he believed himself to be.” 

“It’s not Francis I’m afraid of.” 

“Is it what you were able to do to him?” Will nodded, eyes downcast, and Hannibal smiled sadly. He placed a warm hand on Will’s arm and Will found himself at odds as to whether he should move away or lean into the touch. He settled on staying where he was. “You have nothing to fear, Will. You are becoming what you were always meant to be. You have fought the dragon and emerged victorious.” Will sighed and nodded, watching Hannibal with something that felt painfully close to longing as he passed him a couple more painkillers and quietly made his way out of the room. 

Hannibal said the trip would take two days, at most. He had prepared well; they had more than enough fuel and provisions to last them till they arrived in Cuba. They took turns sailing; with Will taking over the majority of the time due to his honed skills, and Hannibal insisted they alternate every few hours to eat and rest, since they were still recovering from their injuries. Hannibal had ensured him there was an abundance of antibiotics on board and made sure Will took his several times a day, as well as his painkillers, and helped him change his gauze often to prevent the onslaught of infection. Hannibal had asked several times about Will's slight limp, but Will assured him the pain was only mild and not to worry about it. To Will’s relief, they spoke little, both weary after all that had happened and still trying to process everything. When they did speak, it was entirely functional, consisting of phrases that were only differentiation's of: “can I get past?” or “careful, that plate is hot,” or, most commonly, “I need to rest.” 

And Will was grateful they weren’t speaking - there was too much to say. And he was afraid that if he started talking, he would never stop. 

They arrived in Cuba after a day and a half of smooth sailing. Hannibal packed up whatever food they had left and rooted around in their wardrobe for fresh clothes. “To avoid drawing suspicion,” he explained. For Will, he had acquired a pale blue button down and black slacks. For himself, a dark t-shirt and blue jeans; it was the most under dressed Will had ever seen him. It made him feel almost unsettled, like he was travelling with a stranger. Hannibal had also opted to leave his face unshaven, and neglected to style his hair so that his bangs partially obscured his face, and Will found himself with the absurd desire to reach out and push them out of his eyes. They both wore dark sunglasses, and Will hoped that his torn cheek wouldn’t draw too much attention. Thankfully, it was almost dusk by the time they left the sanctuary of the boat and the city was largely empty. 

“Our car is parked close by, it should only be a short walk,” Hannibal explained as they stepped off the boat and onto the dock. 

Of course he had already organised transport. 

Will nodded, struggling to keep up with his injured leg. “I do wish you would let me take another look at your leg,” Hannibal said. 

Will shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” 

“I insist,” Hannibal persisted. “I was a doctor, if you recall.” Will thought to argue but Hannibal’s tone left no room, so instead he kept quiet and focused on putting one unsteady foot in front of the other. They reached the car within 10 minutes, double the time it should have taken, but Will's leg was slowing them down considerably. The vehicle was partially obscured by foliage and parked singularly beside a beaten down road. Hannibal quickly reached into his pocket for the keys and opened the passenger door wide for Will, watching as he clambered inside the car without making eye contact, murmuring his thanks to the leather seat instead of Hannibal. 

The drive wasn’t long, barely over an hour, but Will found himself falling asleep regardless, his limp head nodding to the rhythm of the speed bumps and pot holes littering the empty road. Hannibal alternated between observing the road and watching over Will, concern overtaking his features whenever his slumber became restless or his breathing unsteady. 

Will awoke to a warm hand on his arm. “We’re here.” He blinked up at Hannibal drowsily, before shrugging him off and stepping out of the car. They were parked beside a large house, it looked modern and extraordinarily decadent. But then again it was Hannibal, what else had he expected? 

The walls of the house were a dim shade of white and contrasted the golden sand of the beach, which spread out wide as far as they could see. The sun was setting, so that the vivid oranges and pale pinks of the sky reflected beautifully into the large glass windows. They stepped out onto the wooden decking, and Will noticed that there were no other houses to be seen. He supposed that made sense. 

“It’s incredible.” He breathed, as Hannibal turned and unlocked the door for them with the same set of keys. 

“It is, isn’t it? My contact did well.” Hannibal responded, immediately wandering over to the kitchen to open the fridge to inspect its contents. He nodded in approval before shutting it again with a small smile. 

“Yeah, well. Tell them thanks from me.” 

“I will.” 

They proceeded to explore the house for a while, and Will tried desperately to wrap his mind around the fact that all of the terrible wrongdoings in his life had led him to this. If there was a God, Hannibal certainly had a much firmer grasp on his predispositions than Will did. 

“If you are tired, you may retire to your bedroom while I make dinner. It shouldn’t be long.” Hannibal offered, clearly wanting some time alone in his new kitchen after going without for so long. 

“Okay.” Will replied, and left to make his way slowly up the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long to post! I started hating my writing again! Lol pls enjoy though and feel free to leave a comment; they make me infinitely happy <3

Will dragged the dead weight of his body up the stairs, gradually turning left before eyeing the door positioned across from him. He pushed it open quietly and watched it swing open to reveal a moderately-sized bedroom. The room was scantily decorated, with little furniture aside from a double bed, wooden side table and a small desk beside the open window. He supposed furnishing it beyond the bare necessities would be silly; after all, they weren’t going to be here long. Fugitives didn’t possess the luxury of owning a permanent residence. Though, it did strike him as odd - Hannibal was never one to forego a little embellishment. He wondered if Hannibal’s room was more extravagant, but found his legs refused to take even a one step further, so instead he promptly collapsed onto the fresh sheets and fell asleep almost instantly, still atop the crisp linen covers.

It felt as though he had succumbed for only a few seconds before Hannibal’s voice was drifting upstairs to let him know dinner was ready. He peeled himself from the irresistibly soft covers, groaning irritably as he was forced to move his abused body once more. His stomach groaned along with him, probably wondering why it had been so long since it had been fed properly. He hushed it and sat up in bed. The stab wound in his cheek still hurt horribly, although thanks to Hannibal’s concoction of pain medication, the sharp stinging had resolved to more of a dull ache. However, the worst pain still resided in his leg, and he hissed when he placed it down on the cold floor. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sweet smell of food wafting up through the floorboards. He didn’t spare a moment to check the state of his injuries in any more detail, instead opting to make his way downstairs with newly found resolve.

“Braised ox cheeks with port and a side of prosciutto roses.” Hannibal announced proudly when Will, at long last, limped into the dining room. He cast a glance around the room, carefully taking in the scatterings of candles and the finery of food at the table. Hannibal stood at the head of it, donned in one of his signature three-piece suits, gestured grandly for Will to take the seat opposite him. Will thought better of asking if the meat was actually ox; he already knew the answer, anyway. Though he did wonder who exactly it was that Hannibal had managed to persuade to gather the ingredients that they were about to feast upon. Whoever it was, Hannibal must have his claws in deep, although he supposed they weren’t the ones he was about to eat braised person __ with. 

“You seem to have made yourself at home.” Will smiled, wincing when the expression tugged at his stitches and tentatively taking his seat at the table.

“Why wouldn’t I? We are home, Will.” Will raised an eyebrow at that, before promptly looking down to examine his plate. He found no guilt there. Neither of the men spoke again – the two of them too engrossed in the flavours to pick up on the lull in conversation. After a few minutes of quiet, Will spoke up.

“So what now?”

“Desert?” Hannibal quipped, a n  uncharacteristically genuine smi le gracing his face. 

“You know that’s not what I mean t , Hannibal.”  Will replied, stabbing a rose with his fork. 

“We can do whatever we like, Will. We are free.” Will looked up from his plate and  met Hannibal’s eyes for what felt like the first time since the fall.  They were brighter than he’d ever seen them. 

The rest of dinner passed by in what felt like, to Will at least, uncomfortable silence. Unlike before Hannibal’s incarceration, they did not speak while they ate. The conversations laced with complicated metaphors and casual manipulation were replaced by the scraping of utensils against china plates and the quiet crackling of the hearth fire. Will had assumed that Hannibal would have disclosed their future arrangements by now or they would at least talk about what was going to happen next, and the fact that he hadn’t made Will feel predictably uneasy. In contrast, Hannibal seemed completely at peace with their current situation and it left a sour taste more noticeable in Will’s mouth than the meat he was chewing. He swallowed it down with a large gulp of red wine. 

When the dinner was finished, Will gave Hannibal his thanks and made to leave, taking his emptied plate over the to sink to wash up.  Every night, Hannibal would cook and Will would wash the dishes. Hannibal had divulged that he had purchased a dishwasher for the kitchen but Will took no notice: he preferred to do it himself. It made him feel useful. And working with his hands, (if this could even be considered work) felt familiar and good, like something from a past life. A simpler one, where puzzles were easily solved and companionship came solely in the form of four-legged animals with lolling tongues. 

He scrubbed the platter now with a little more gusto than was strictly necessary, and jumped when he felt a presence behind him - whipping around and then coming face to face with Hannibal, standing merely inches away from him. Will sighed. “Can I help you?”

“I was just dropping this off,” Hannibal responded, raising his plate slowly to show Will. Will nodded in response, turning around to get back to the job at hand when Hannibal set his plate beside the sink. “Will, are you alright?” Hannibal asked, curiosity laced low in the timbre of his voice.

“Yeah, I’m great,” Will huffed, already irrationally irritated by Hannibal’s presence. “Would you mind grabbing me a towel?”

“Of course.” Hannibal went to fetch one, but didn’t let go when Will reached for it. The younger man scowled at him.

“Are you going to hand it over?”

“Perhaps. If you tell me what’s wrong, that is.” Will huffed his disdain. 

“Hannibal there’s nothing wrong - please give me the towel. The plate’s are dripping all over the floor.”

“Let them,” Hannibal smiled. Will found himself growing impossibly huffy. 

“Goddam it, I’ll get it myself.” And with that he reached out to snatch the towel from Hannibal’s hand, but the cannibal dodged him expertly and Will slipped gracelessly onto the floor. He hit the tiles hard, right on top of his injured leg, and cried out in pain, covering his mouth with his hand as he attempted to stifle a sob. He flipped over so that he was sat up, back to the counter, and felt Hannibal place a warm hand over his knee. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Will, look at me.” Will shook his head, knowing his tears would fall if he did as he asked. He refused to embarrass himself any further than he already had. Hannibal cupped his face and Will felt a sob wrack through him. __ “Will, please _.”  _

Will shook his head, and pushed himself up off the floor without looking anywhere near the vicinity of where Hannibal stood. He pushed him away with as much strength as he could muster, ignoring Hannibal when he attempted to stop him. “Leave me alone.” He mumbled, and started back up the stairs, wincing when Hannibal sighed in defeat, but refusing to turn around.

The rest of the week passed by in a flurry of decadent meals and restless sleep, with very little else to do in between. Aside from the sounds of Mozart’s compositions drifting from Hannibal’s vinyl player, the house was stiflingly silent. Will knew Hannibal was waiting for him to speak; to ease the tension that hung over them like dead air. He would want to know why Will did what he did, why he was acting so erratically, why he had thrown them from the precipice in the first  place.T he sparse  explanation on the boat won’t have been enough: he’d want to delve deep into  Will’s mind, mine away at all the little doubts and fragments of sanity that still clung to him like damp grains of sand from the beach. They were walking a tight rope, and Will could do little else but wait for the line to snap. But Will was a patient man, and he would put off the conversation for as long as possible before he went hurtling down to the ground again. 

In the few hours that he was conscious, Will floated about the house like a lost ghost, unsure of what to do and unwilling to ask Hannibal for any direction. He felt out of control, like a dog with no master. But he flat out refused to give Hannibal the satisfaction of training him. 

One warm night, when Will crept downstairs to grab a midnight snack, he ran into Hannibal leaning expectantly against the white door frame. “You’ve been avoiding me, Will.”

“No, I haven’t.” Will began walking towards the kitchen, only for Hannibal to follow at his heels.

“It wasn’t a question; I would just appreciate an explanation. It seems to me as if this should be the time for us to finally clear the air. Instead, we’re barely speaking.” Will sighed as he opened the fridge, the white light cascading across his face and causing him to squint. He continued searching for food, hoping that he could get what he wanted quickly so he could return to the safety of his bedroom and hide away like some stroppy teenager. “Have I done something to upset you?” Will sighed again, louder this time.

“God, no Hannibal. I’m not avoiding you, I’m processing things. This is all a lot to absorb, okay?”

“Why not let me assist  you?” Hannibal persisted, leaning against the fridge now. 

“Because I want to be left alone!” Will yelled, slamming the fridge door shut, forsaking the plan to  sate his appetite. Hannibal raised a scant eyebrow. “Jesus, sorry. I just need time. And then we can talk about whatever you like. Alright?” He didn’t give Hannibal the chance to reply, instead he brushed past him and hurried up the steps, thoroughly regretting leaving the sanctity of his bedroom at all.

The truth was, he didn’t know why he was avoiding Hannibal. It just felt easier than facing the reality of their situation. Not that it was clear what their situation even was – what was their plan exactly? To be ruthless killers, cannibalising anyone who they deemed distasteful? Will wasn’t even sure he was capable of such cruelty; he had only ever killed in self-defence before, or in defence of someone else. Could he even become what Hannibal wanted of him? And what if he couldn’t? Would Hannibal cast him aside; a failed experiment, an idea that he got too carried away with and needed to be dealt with at the earliest of convenience. Would be finally become the sacrificial lamb upon Hannibal’s plate? Their runaway train would barrel off the tracks, maiming everyone around in its wake, and they alone would be the demented conductors. A shiver trickled through his body. He should have dragged himself and Hannibal right back into the ocean after they had fallen. Any decent person would have, and that alone proved than he had never been one. He had made quite show of pretending to be, dedicating his life to saving the innocent and incarcerating the guilty. But now his façade was crumbling; his filthy skin was shedding and it was becoming painstakingly apparent that there wasn’t merely another man lurking underneath the carnage.

Will wished he could voice his concerns, truly, but the idea of talking to Hannibal made him feel physically ill.  He didn’t want to risk upsetting the delicate balance they were currently see-sawing o ver ; he  wouldn’t tip them over the edge again. They’d come too far for that now.

Hannibal was content to just wait out until their scenario played out naturally and for once, it seemed, he felt no need to twist and manipulate their situation into something of his own making. They were a team now, a partnership, and that meant trusting Will to make the right decision. And despite their history, he found that putting his faith in Will was still one of the easiest things in the world to do.

One night, over a steaming plate of Foie Gras, Hannibal paused whilst bringing a glass of red wine to his lips and asked the question that had been perched on his tongue since the moment they had arrived there. “How would you feel about going hunting with me, Will?”

Any ordinary person would have been shocked, given the true meaning behind the words. Maybe they would have even spat out their drink if they were particularly crude, but Will was not ordinary, and with Hannibal present crudeness was something akin to suicide. He casually swallowed his wine before addressing  Hannibal’s question with one of his own. “Did you have someone particular in mind?” 

“I think you know.” Hannibal replied simply, his eyes pooling with that familiar darkness that seemed to have been slipping away as of lately. Will had almost founding himself missing it, and he found himself lost in their depths now.

He pondered the question. Hannibal had made promises to deal with a certain someone, and there was no doubt in his mind that Hannibal had every intention of fulfilling that promise. He wasn’t one to break off prior engagements. However, that wasn’t the someone he was talking about now. Alana was far away, safely barracked by an ocean and resolutely locked away in a mansion somewhere. She would be shaking in her boots if she had any idea that that they were sat here discussing her demise so casually, as if deciding what they were having for dinner. Although, Will figured, that was exactly what they were doing. But Alana didn’t pose so much of a threat that Hannibal would risk getting caught again just to be rid of her. Point being, it wasn’t Alana Bloom that Hannibal wanted so desperately to purée. So that just left someone else. Someone who had been wise enough to run, but not wise enough to go somewhere where Hannibal couldn’t easily track her down as and when he saw fit. Someone who was so very curious, and who’s manipulation rivalled Hannibal’s own – a woman who knew far too much to ever truly be safe.

“ Bedelia Du Maurier,” Will said/ Hannibal smiled cunningly, exposing a white fang as he politely set down his utensils on either side of his plate. “She’s here, in Cuba?” 

Hannibal nodded. “It would  take only a  brief ride to  get us to her, not even a gallon of petrol to bring us right to her door.” 

“How cost-effective,” Will snarled, setting down his own knife and fork with much more force than Hannibal did. His crooked smile never wavered. “Is that why we came here? Just to kill her?” Something about the statement stirred his gut, made his hackles stand on  end .

“It was a conv enience more than a consideration. I had always planned to re-visit Cuba regardless of circumstance ; Bedelia’s presence merely solidified the idea in my mind.” 

Will nodded and found himself wondering if Hannibal had mentioned Cuba in one of his sessions with  Bedelia , and if she had somehow chosen it subconsciously as the place where she could safely make her escape. Or perhaps it had been completely intentional, and she had already known he would find her this easily, but didn’t care enough to prevent the inevitable. Maybe she even actively sought after the discovery, and wanted to be found so that this torturous game of cat and mouse could finally reach its long-awaited end. Will knew personally how exhausting it could be. It would mean she wouldn’t have to be constantly looking over her shoulder for a monster she could never possibly hope to see coming. He found himself sympathising with the idea of a controlled escape. He envied her clarity.

“How  do you think killing  Bedelia would make  you feel?” 

Will considered himself. “Nothing.” 

Hannibal quirked his head, “nothing at all?”

Will sighed, resolutely sipping from his glass. “Probably a little guilt. But other than that, I would feel empty.  Bedelia never posed a threat to me, nor did she never hurt anyone. Not of her own volition, anyway.” He cast a glance towards Hannibal, who appeared amused if not unbothered. “Point is, killing her would not bring me any satisfaction. Though I don’t believe her death would bring about much distress for me either.” 

Hannibal nodded, “you believe murdering  Dolarhyde and the other murderers only excited you because they were monsters, in your eyes?” 

“Yes,” 

Hannibal smiled again , bringing his own glass to his upturned lips . “I think you might surprise yourself yet .” 

Will frowned, but he didn’t say anything.


	4. Chapter 4

Much to Will’s distaste, Hannibal had almost entirely organised his preparations for slaying Bedelia; he’d even gone as far as determining which meal he would serve after the deed was done. Will made a point of asking him not to divulge any more details than necessary on the catering side of things - much to Hannibal’s amusement. 

As daylight began to fade, Will found himself pacing feverishly around his bedroom, uncaring of the grooves his boots were likely driving into the soft carpet. His head ached with worry and anticipation, his thoughts spiralling until he couldn’t tell where one anxiety ended and another begun. He paced until his leg began to ache, by which point he resorted to sitting at the edge of his bed and absentmindedly tapping it on the floor. He was sure he could hear something faint, like a quiet conversation or humming, but thought it impossible because Hannibal was all the way downstairs, busying himself with meal preparations. He put it down to another quirk curtesy of his over-active imagination and quickly continued tapping. 

When he eventually trailed downstairs to see how preparations were going in the kitchen, he was presented with the sight of an expectant Hannibal harbouring a bundle of shiny plastic in his arms. 

“To prevent leaving behind any evidence,” he explained.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“I’m afraid not,” Hannibal replied, carefully pushing the gift into Will’s begrudging arms.

“I have found this to be an infallible method of leaving without a trace. I’m aware that the outfit itself is not very alluring, but the benefits do outweigh the costs in excess, I’m afraid.” 

Will took hold of the ridiculous garment and unfurled it, suppressing a sigh before heading back up to his bedroom to dress. He emerged a few minutes later, shuffling awkwardly down the stairs and shooting daggers at Hannibal. “Did you have this tailored?” Will asked, for the suit, despite all its ridiculousness, did fit oddly well - arguably even better than Will’s own threadbare clothes.

Hannibal nodded. “I’m well acquainted with a tailor that resides back in Baltimore; he made it up for me, didn’t ask too many questions.”

“You had this made back in Baltimore?” Will snapped. 

“Shortly before your incarceration, actually. I may have been a little over eager.” Hannibal relented, nonchalantly smoothing down his own plastic suit.

“You don’t say,” Will retorted, striding over to where Hannibal stood beside the door and mumbling his thanks when he held it open for him. Will didn’t see the point in asking how exactly Hannibal knew his measurements, it just seemed like the kind of thing he would just know, and at this point it didn’t even strike him as peculiar. Hannibal already knew him intimately in mind – why not in body, too? The two of them trudged outside and clambered inside the car parked in the garage. They drove in silence for a while, the windows rolled down a touch and causing the wind to whistle through Will’s curls. The breeze brought a pleasant cool to the interior of the car. Will sighed, “I still can’t believe you have a murder suit.” 

Hannibal chuckled, his eyes settling on Will for a moment before  drifting  back towards the  empty expanse of the  road, “I’m full of surprises, Will .” 

“ You don’t have to tell me ,” Will laughed. “I only hope there aren’t  too  many more to come.”

“You’ll just have to stick around and see,” Hannibal replied, quietly. And though it was said in jest, there was an undercurrent of something more serious there as well. 

Will turned away from the window to look at him, but Hannibal’s eyes were still fixed solely on the road ahead of them.

Hannibal had been right – the journey to  Bedelia’s seemed to take no time at all, and before long the two of them were parking their car a few blocks away from her address and climbing up the front steps. Hannibal raised one fist to rap at her door before Will grabbed it, obstructing the motion. “Shouldn’t we go around the back? Isn’t this a little obvious?” Will asked, glancing anxiously around the deserted suburb. There seemed to be only a few cars parked outside, and no lights were shining out of any of the houses at this late hour, but Will still felt nervous. It all seemed a little too easy; he really was starting to believe that  Bedelia wanted to get caught. A shudder ran through him.

“Nonsense,” Hannibal replied coolly, pulling Will out of his thoughts. “ Bedelia is expecting us.” 

The door stuttered open to reveal an underdressed Bedelia, wrapped in a silk, white nightgown but still retaining that same composure that she carried with her always, even as she stood before the two men who had undoubtedly come to bring about her demise. “Well,” she said, unfazed “I was beginning to think you two had forgotten about me.” 

“Oh no, Bedelia. We could never forget about you.” Hannibal replied, his eyes pooling with that same bottomless darkness that made even Will shudder. 

Bedelia put up a fair fight, but in the end, she didn’t stand a chance. They were both experienced killers, one significantly more so than the other, and both of their tongues had been attached at the time, so any experience  Bedelia had garnered was null and void. They dragged her unconscious body into the sitting room, and Hannibal placed her down onto a chair with such reverence that it was almost laughable, considering what they had in store for her. They handcuffed her to said chair, and tied her legs together too: the constraints on the second would be removed soon enough, but it made good sense to leave them there for the time being.

Once they had finished setting up, Hannibal procured some kind of arenol from his pocket and held it up to  Bedelia’s nose, sending her gasping to consciousness. The disquieted psychiatrist reeled in her chair and looked about her, wild eyes darting back and forth between them before eventually settling on Hannibal, who’s calm demeanour never faltered. 

“Good evening,  Bedelia . I trust you slept well?” Hannibal smiled, baring pointed teeth. 

“This is a little gauche, don’t you think?”  Bedelia responded, her clipped tone betrayed by the slight tremble in her voice.

“I’m afraid it was necessary so that we could adequately prepare for our proceedings tonight. I apologise for any distress our actions may have caused you.”

Bedelia merely scoffed in response. Will felt himself tense: she was being  _ rude _ . He made to step forward but Hannibal seemed to anticipate his reaction and placed a firm hand upon his shoulder, holding him in place.  Bedelia smiled wickedly. “The rumours are true, then.”

Hannibal was able hold Will in place, but he couldn’t silence him too. Not without actually muzzling him, and Will didn’t think he had one of those hidden away in the bag he had left waiting in Bedelia’s bedroom. “What rumours?” Will spat, practically bristling under  Hannibal’s touch. 

“Murder husbands take the final plunge: are they dead, or are they merely embarking upon a late romantic cruise? Read on to get all the dirty details.” Will instantly recognised  Bedelia’s response as something straight out of the headline of a  Tattlecrime article and felt immediately himself stiffen. The hand on his shoulder squeezed him lightly. He should’ve killed Lounds when he had the chance. She didn’t deserve to draw breath. She caused nothing but trouble wherever she went: he’d actually be doing everyone a favour. He shook his head to clear out any more dangerous thoughts. He carefully pried Hannibal’s hand from his shoulder and prowled close enough to Bedelia that she could feel his breath against her face. 

“If you speak out of line one more time,  Bedelia : I’m going to cut out that sharp tongue of yours with a kitchen knife.”  Bedelia released a breathy laugh and once again, directed her gaze towards Hannibal instead of him, as if in rebellion.

“You did a good job with this one, Hannibal. There’s barely any of Will Graham left in there at all.” Will brought his hand down sharply to connect with Bedelia’s face, sending it swinging to the left as she began to loudly gasp and cough. 

“Will,” Hannibal warned, stepping closer.

“I’m fine!” Will yelled, leaning back in towards Bedelia. “When I’m talking, Bedelia: you look at me, alright? You speak to me. Only me. Do you understand?” 

Bedelia stared at  him, face pale and eyes wide. Her expression held something subtle that could be construed as either curiosity or concern, or perhaps a cocktail of the two. “Yes, I understand Will.” Will nodded firmly, and then stalked out of the room to find himself a bottle of something strong enough to quell whatever darkness had been brewing inside of him since they had fallen from that damn cliff. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark Will!!!


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal closely followed Will into the kitchen, leaving Bedelia to her own devices for a while. He watched as Will haphazardly rummaged through the fridge, before finally settling on a decadent white wine that had been abandoned half-empty on the top shelf. He slammed the fridge door shut before making his way across the kitchen to search the cupboards for a glass. Hannibal continued to watch him from across the room. 

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me search?” Will snapped, not looking up from his endeavours. 

Hannibal sighed before making his way over to Will and gently pushing him aside so that he could reach the cupboard above, instantly finding what he was looking for. “Much appreciated,” Will smirked, before clumsily pouring what was left of the bottle into the clear wine glass. 

“Ordinarily, one would wait until dinner to begin indulging on such beverages. It may spoil your appetite,” Hannibal explained. 

“Oh, well we can’t have that.” Will retorted, before taking an unnecessarily large sip of his wine, draining the glass dry. He stared back at Hannibal, daring him to say something, but the other man knew better than to rise to the bait. 

“Is there a problem here, Will?” He asked instead, holding out a hand in silent request of the bottle. Instead of handing it over, Will walked around him and lifted himself up to sit on the kitchen island, choosing to change tactics and drink directly from the bottle instead. 

“A problem with me?” Will placed a hand upon his chest, his face full of mock hurt. “Never.” 

“Will, if you would prefer to leave no one is stopping you. I am perfectly capable of dispatching Bedelia myself and meeting you back at the house afterwards. There is no need for all these theatrics.” 

The expression on Will’s face shifted into something harder, his eyes flashing. “Bullshit. This,” he gestured around the empty kitchen. “is what it’s all been about. You’ve spent years building me up to this; I won’t deprive you of your perfect ending.” 

“Will, I never wanted to change you into something you weren’t-” 

“Bullshit! That’s all you’ve ever wanted! Face it, you changed me Hannibal, and I’m _fine with it._ Just don’t be mad that I’m finally embracing what you worked so hard to turn me into.” 

“I never intended to turn you into this.” Hannibal gestured towards the bottle still clutched tightly in Will’s hand. 

“Well, guess that’s on you. Nothing ever turns out exactly how you expect it to. Next time, keep the receipt.” And with a final chug of wine, he leapt off the counter, dumping the empty bottle into the bin and storming out of the room. Hannibal watched him leave in silence. 

Back in the dining room, Bedelia struggled against her restraints. They had little give and she found herself only causing the rope to dig deeper into her skin. But she knew that there was little point in struggling; even if she managed to untie herself it’s not as if she could merely slip past Will and Hannibal. They would be on her in an instant and drag her right back to her chair. It was to be her last supper. She thought she had accepted her death when she came; it was inevitable after all, just a waiting game at this point. She knew that wherever she went she would never be free of him, just as he would never be free of her while she remained alive. She knew him far too intimately to ever be safe. And Hannibal didn’t need anyone else seeing him so clearly, not when he had Will Graham in his life. Will Graham. What an anomaly. The only person whom Hannibal Lecter had let behind his veil and not proceeded to choke him with it. She would never understand; and she supposed that was why she had to die, and not him. 

Will came back into the room first. He seemed angrier than she remembered him, but not any less scared. Fear clung to him as closely as it had when she had first met him, cowering away in his prison cell. Sure, he may be dressed to the God’s and incredibly close with a renowned serial killer, but he was still the same twitchy, self-sabotaging man she had found that day. He was simply wearing a carbon copy of the mask that Hannibal wore; and it did not fit him well. 

The man took a seat beside her at the table, resolutely staring down at the table cloth as Hannibal himself entered closely behind and did the same. They watched each other for a moment, and Bedelia found herself feeling like she was intruding on an intimate moment, despite the fact that they were the ones who had broken into her home and were now eye-fucking one another over her dining table. 

“We are going to remove your leg.” Will spoke quickly and without preamble, giving her little time to digest the statement before continuing. “and then, we’re going to eat it.” He looked over at Bedelia, where she sat with her mouth agape. “All of us,” he amended, smiling his demented smile at her. The scar on his face made it seem even more crude, like his mouth stretched much further and wider than it naturally should. It seemed he was Frankenstein's bride, now. 

“We’re going to sedate you for the procedure.” Hannibal assured her, as if this was precursor for a routine operation and he was simply informing his patient of the risks. “You will be asleep and won’t experience any pain.” 

“What a waste.” Will muttered. 

“You are not a masochist, Will.” Hannibal said, frowning at Will from across the table.

“Not until you give the word.” Will snapped.

“Will,” Hannibal began. 

“Simon says; abandon you wife and son.” Will picked up his fork and twirled it in his palm. 

“Will-” 

“Simon says, leave all your friends and family behind.” Will was smiling again now, and stabbed his fork into the table with a jolt, causing Bedelia to jump. He barked a laugh at her reaction. Hannibal stood abruptly and began walking over to him. 

“Simon says,” Will continued, laughing manically. “Watch your surrogate daughter die. Twice!” He stabbed his fork into the table again and Hannibal reached over to grab it from him. 

“Sorry Hannibal, did I do it wrong? I guess that’s just me though, right? Always with the bad timing. Don’t worry; I’ll let you stab me again.” He held out the fork for Hannibal, jerking it in his direction and Hannibal frowning at him helplessly, utterly at a loss as to what he should do: an unusual, yet increasingly more frequent occurrence for him as of late. 

“Oh, you don’t want to? That’s okay Hannibal, I’ll do it for you.” Will lifted the fork into the air, and brought it rushing down towards himself. The utensil was inches away from his abdomen before Hannibal grabbed his hand abruptly and stopped him. Will fought against him, still attempting to bring the fork down, but Hannibal refused to release his hold on the man. “Let go, Hannibal!” He cried, giving a final aborted wretch to pull the fork out of his grasp. Hannibal remained silent, merely keeping hold of the man’s hand with an iron grip as Will began to shake violently. As the shaking grew in intensity, Will’s grasp on the fork loosened enough that Hannibal would take it away from him. 

Will let out a strangled sob, and fell to collapse to the floor when Hannibal caught him in his arms, bringing him close to his body. The smaller man fell against him, his head buried against his chest, gripping his shirt with white-knuckled fists and breathing heavily. Hannibal hushed him and ran a soothing hand through his curls, murmuring quiet words in a foreign tongue that the others did not understand. 

Bedelia had remained silent until now but now spoke in hushed whispers, “Are you going to kill me or not?” 

Hannibal took a moment to answer, still stroking a hand through Will’s hair. He went to his knees gently, bringing the two of the to the floor, and leaned Will against the back of the sofa. The younger man sighed, bringing his knees to his chest and closing his eyes. He looked exhausted. Hannibal watched him for a moment before standing to his feet and turning to face her with dark eyes. “Yes, I’m afraid our plans will have to be adjusted slightly. Will seems in no state to help so I will have to deal with you myself.” Bedelia swallowed dryly as Hannibal approached her, kneeling beside where she sat shaking in her chair. He smiled at her sadly, noticing that she had somehow gotten a hold of a fork and now gripped it tightly in her hand. “I am sorry it had to end this way, Bedelia.” She could only stare in response, looking on in disbelief as Hannibal’s eyes grew darker and their impossible emptiness became the last thing she saw before everything went dark. 

Hannibal stared down at their masterpiece in rapture. Bedelia stared, dead-eyed back up at him, or maybe up towards heaven; her blood sneaking out from under her, disguised as messy wings stretching gracefully across the kitchen floor. Hannibal tore his eyes from the design as he became aware of the heavy sound of breathing close behind him. 

Will had returned back to his place near the sofa, his eyes were starkly open but unseeing, with pupils dilated to the point of blackness. He was mumbling something over and over but Hannibal was unable to decipher the words. “Will?” When he received only the muffled manta in response, he wiped his hands down his suit, and padded over to him softly, so as not to spook him any further. 

He stood in front of Will and gently took his hands from where they had been clenched firmly by his sides. He held them in his own. “Will, look at me.” The man simply shook his head and Hannibal felt a painful ache spread across his chest. “Please.” This time the man obliged, slowly opening his eyes to meet Hannibal’s. He looked so afraid, and so breathtakingly beautiful in his fear. Speckles of blood littered his face and ran down his chin, coating his lips in deep red, and Hannibal had to force his eyes away from them. That was not what Will needed right now. 

“Do you think you can move?” He asked instead, and Will nodded, but no made no attempt to do so. Instead, his eyes darted about Hannibal’s face wildly, before resting them over his shoulder where they fixed on Bedelia’s body, and he gasped sharply before shaking his head and snapping his eyes shut again, his whole body visibly shaking. Hannibal held his hands tighter in his grip. 

“You’re going to be okay, Will. You did nothing wrong.” Will’s eyes snapped open at that, and now anger as well as fear flashed across them. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out and he exhaled shakily in frustration. Hannibal wondered what had gone wrong. It had all gone so beautifully, Will had seemed so in control, finally coming into his own and looking so beautifully feral in his element. It had been even more astonishing than when they had killed Dolarhyde, which Hannibal had previously thought impossible. But then why was Will reacting this way now? 

He would have to dwell on it later: right now, they had more pressing matters to deal with. “Will, we can’t stay here for long. It’s not safe. I’m going to need you to stand up for me and help me clean up.” But Will no longer seemed to be listening; his eyes were glazed over, staring but not seeing the body they had put there just minutes earlier. Or perhaps he was seeing something else entirely, lost in a world of his own making. Hannibal decided he needed to take control: they couldn’t risk being caught now, not when everything was finally falling into place. “Will, I’m going to pick you up, alright?” Again, Will gave no inclination that he was even hearing Hannibal’s voice. Hannibal slid one hand under Will’s knees, using his other hand to support his back and carried him into the Bedelia’s large bedroom. He set him down gently, sighing at the despondent look on his pale face and brushing his hair, slicked with blood and sweat, out of his unblinking eyes. “Stay right here, Will. I’m going to take care of everything, don’t worry.” And with that he left the room, softly shutting the door behind him. 

It took approximately an hour for Hannibal to finish cleaning up, much longer than they had planned staying, but he supposed that couldn’t be helped, and when he was done, he was satisfied that they had left behind no evidence. The place looked spotless, Hannibal observed with a small smile; even cleaner than when they had first arrived. Hannibal slipped out of the back door and made his way over to their car, placing Bedelia’s limp body into the plastic-lined trunk, with plans to dispose of it at a later time. It would be kept in the freezer of their basement at home while it was still being used, and he would worry about the particulars of its disposal later. Will was his biggest concern right now. 

To Hannibal’s relief, when he re-entered the bedroom Will was fast asleep, curled up atop the sheets of the double bed, his eyebrows furrowed as he slept. Not wanting to wake him, Hannibal merely scooped the man up, feeling warmth spread across the expanse his chest when Will leaned his head against him with a soft sigh. 


End file.
